


Irony

by missbip0lar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Cursed Harry, Fuck Or Die, I'm sure I'm missing a ton, Implied Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Succubus Curse, Switching, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Virgin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbip0lar/pseuds/missbip0lar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes and gets himself whumped by a Succubus Curse while on a case with Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irony

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. Don't own, blah blah blah. Dubious Consent warning in the form of Fuck Or Die/Sex Pollen.

_Irony - noun - a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result._

 

“This is only temporary.” 

Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice was an obvious attempt at reassurance, but whether that was for Draco or Potter, Draco wasn't sure. They were both rather indignant over this turn of events, and with good reason; in the eight years since the Battle of Hogwarts they’d both done their fair share of growing up, but their mutual newfound maturity only extended so far. They’d done their level best to avoid one another but old habits die hard. Draco’s propensity for poking the sleeping lion, so to speak, hadn't diminished in the slightest when he and Potter had both been accepted into the Auror program. And likewise, Potter’s fiery temper would never allow him to take Draco’s bullying lying down.

So over the past six years of working in the same department of the Ministry, their rivalry had not only remained but had grown inexorably stronger. It was no longer fueled by envy and resentment (at least, not on Draco's end), but rather it was fueled by a fierce competitiveness. Draco was determined to prove himself, to restore some semblance of honour to his family name, and climbing the bureaucratic ranks in the Ministry of Magic would surely see to that. Potter, however, was still the Ministry’s Golden Boy, and any type of career advancement for Draco seemed in limbo while The Boy Who Lived continued to waffle in his ambitions.

So now, much to Draco's utter disdain, he and Potter were going to be forced into a temporary partnership while their own respective partners were otherwise unavailable. Blaise had been hit full force with a nasty curse during their last assignment and would be laid up in St Mungo’s for the remainder of the week, most likely flirting with the mediwitch who administered his pain potions. And The Weasel would be at St Mungo’s as well; Draco’d heard a rumour that Granger (now Mrs Granger-Weasley) had gone into labour in the early morning hours and so her doting husband would surely be indisposed until mother and infant were properly settled in, perhaps longer.

“How temporary?” Draco asked at last, not daring to look across to Potter.

Shacklebolt shrugged his gigantic shoulders. “Until further notice.” He levitated a file folder to each of them. “Meet Nathalie Meridian. We don't know much about her, only that she possesses powerful Dark magic and has been preying on Muggle men for months now.”

“Has she been killing them?” Potter asked as they both flicked through the files from their respective armchairs before the Department Head’s desk.

“Not directly,” Shacklebolt responded. “And not in a way easily traced to one person specifically.”

“So how do we know that this woman - that's an alias, by the way, Nathalie Meridian is the name of a villainess in a book series I read a few years ago - is indeed our perpetrator?” Draco wanted to know.

“That alias is one of our most telling clues, actually,” Shacklebolt nodded, “considering the type of curses she has been using on her victims. And each of the victims was either seen with our suspect or had her name or initials pencilled in to their calendars on the last day they were seen alive.”

“So she’s using a Succubus Curse,” Draco sighed, somewhat relieved. A Succubus Curse performed by a witch had no effect on a man of Draco's proclivities, and so he was naturally the perfect man for the job.

“Don't look so relaxed,” Shacklebolt warned him sharply. “As I've said, Ms Meridian is using very powerful Dark magic - this is not your run of the mill Succubus Curse. The usual blockers are present in nearly every victim: two of them were gay, one was asexual, and three were found to be medically incapable of ejaculating. She was somehow still able to feed upon all six of these men. Tread lightly, gentlemen, this assignment will not be as simple or as straightforward as either of you are accustomed to.”

“These victims were also Muggles, though, weren't they?” Potter clarified. Kingsley furrowed his brow in confusion. “It's just… Muggles aren't equipped to withstand these kinds of curses. We are. It's not likely that she would be able to incapacitate either of us, given certain, erm…” Potter glanced sidelong at Draco, clearly searching for an inoffensive way of saying what he meant. Draco took pity on him.

“What Potter means to say is given the fact that I am a rabid pillowbiter _and_ a competent wizard, the two of us should have no trouble at all, even if Potter does take a hit from Ms Meridian’s Succubus Curse.”

“That's actually not what I meant to say at all, Malfoy, but congratulations on your desperately inflated ego,” Potter said sharply before turning back to Shacklebolt. “What I meant to say, sir, is that given my personal history, and apparently Malfoy’s as well, you've got the right men for the job.”

“Wait, you're…?” Draco stammered. “ _Really?_ ”

“Yes,” Harry said primly. “It's why Ginny and I divorced two years ago. Discretion would be appreciated.”

Draco nodded, a little dumbly. After a moment of tense silence, Shacklebolt dismissed them with little further instruction than, “Try not to hex one another please.”

***

Potter turned out to be surprisingly easy to work with. He listened to Draco's theories and offered some of his own. They went through the files together, Draco taking copious amounts of notes while Potter rattled off dates and names and spread macabre photographs of the victims’ corpses across a table. They ordered takeaway Indian for lunch from a small restaurant a few blocks away from the Ministry and theorized further between mouthfuls of curry.

Potter was even amenable to Draco's suggestion that they each don a glamour and go separately that same night to the Muggle pub that their suspect seemed to be using as a sort of hunting grounds. The file was informative, if not a little vague, and Ms Meridian, it seemed, had a type. So after thoroughly reviewing the Meridian File for the entire day, Draco set to work on his glamour.

He and Potter would be able to see through each other's disguises, of course, on the off chance that Meridian happened to sink her claws into either of them. Draco wasn't too concerned, however, and only began to feel ill at ease when he transfigured his robes into a soft, faded leather jacket; he would never feel truly comfortable in Muggle attire.

The face Draco wore wasn't terribly different from his own, save for the dark curls where his own blond hair should be, and the neatly trimmed line of facial hair around his mouth. His eyes remained his own; light enough to be mistaken for molten silver and cold enough to freeze even the fiercest of tempers. 

With that thought he looked over at Potter, who was actually arranging the rat's nest he called a head of hair into something presentable. It was auburn now, significantly lighter than usual, and swept to the side with a dollop or two of Sleek-Eazy’s. His eyes were a deep espresso, ringed with those same startlingly dark eyelashes as always. Unbidden, the realization that Draco prefered Potter jet-haired and green-eyed flitted through his mind and Draco was startled at the truth of it. As handsome as the man standing before Draco was, Potter was more attractive by far than this face he currently wore. Potter was tugging at his waistcoat, trying to get it to lie properly, apparently, and Draco stepped in front of him to assist.

“You’ve got the buttons done up wrong, you prat,” Draco said, injecting far less venom into his voice than he’d wanted. He sounded almost fond, and cringed at himself.

“Well I don’t usually wear these things,” Potter mumbled defensively. “They’re too tight and stuffy.”

Potter was looking at him strangely when Draco finally straightened up. He scrambled quickly for something to say.

“So, er, who all knows that you’re…?”

“Gay, Malfoy, you can say it,” Potter said with a roll of his eyes. “Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. And now you.”

“And surely the blokes you’ve shagged.” Draco could have hit himself. That was not something he should have said.

“There haven’t… been any, erm…” Potter flushed, from his chest to the tips of his ears.

Draco gaped at him, unsure if he was understanding. “No shagging?” he asked. “In the entire two years you have been divorced, you’ve not once been to bed with another man?”

If possible, Potter’s blush deepened even further. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“But… why?”

Potter breathed a laugh. “Did you just ask why my sex life is none of your business?”

Draco sighed and turned away. “I was just trying to have a civil conversation with you, Potter, there’s no need to be -”

“About my sex life?” Potter shot back on another incredulous laugh. “You’ve got a strange idea of appropriate topics of conversation.”

“Bugger off,” Draco muttered, feeling his face heat up. He only hoped the glamour would conceal it.

“If you’re really that interested,” Potter began quietly, “it’s because I want it to be special, and in the past two years I’ve found that most times, the attitude toward sex in the queer community is… more casual than I’m looking for.”

“ _Special_ ,” Draco scoffed. “Sex is sex, Potter, it doesn’t always have to _mean_ something.”

“Maybe not for someone like _you._ ”

“What are you implying?” Draco demanded angrily.

Potter seemed to suddenly be enjoying Draco’s barely contained rage.

“Well it’s not exactly a secret that you and Auror Zabini have been sleeping together on a semi-regular basis for the past four years,” Potter smirked.

Draco had to laugh at that. “I hardly think trading the occasional wank would be considered ‘regularly sleeping together,’ Potter - that’s just friendly stress relief. Besides, Blaise is mostly straight.”

Potter just rolled his eyes and shook his head at that. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Malfoy. Can we just get this over with already? If Meridian is going to be choosing her next victim tonight, I’d really rather it be one of us.”

Three hours later, Draco was dragging a cursed Potter out of the pub as he made eyes at every single man and woman in the place. It was damned near impossible to pull him from the gaggle of young women swooning over him, but with a cold look from Draco they scurried off to leave him with the mess of a wizard he’d gotten stuck with. Potter was sweating, humping air, and generally making a complete arse out of himself and everyone was bloody staring. It should have been easy. Draco’d almost bloody well _had the bitch;_ he’d been riding that endorphin high that came with going undercover for a night, with playing a character for the sole purpose of subtly taking down Dark wizards. And then _Harry fucking Potter_ had to swoop in and ruin _everything._

Draco was still a little fuzzy on all the details, but Potter had said something - something completely bloody stupid, most likely, Draco thinks - and then Meridian had escaped, but not before turning and kissing Potter’s forehead - directly atop that scar - and leaning in to whisper, “Gotcha,” into his ear.

So now Draco was left with a sweating and horny Boy Who Lived, and every single person in the pub apparently looked like an acceptable bed partner. But Potter would bloody well kill Draco if he allowed him to shag some nameless Muggle in the alley behind a dingy pub in the centre of London. He still had most of his wits about him at this point, though, so that was good, at least. He was currently ranting on about Draco’s stupidity, how Draco’d let Miridian slip away.

“ _My_ stupidity?!” Draco cried once they were on the sidewalk. “ _You’re_ the one who interrupted! I was doing _perfectly fine!_ I almost had her, Potter, so no it was _your_ idiocy that cocked this one all up!!”

“Can we please just get me to Mungo’s already?” Potter whined as he pressed his hand against the front of his jeans.

“Bugger the hospital!” Draco shouted, surprising himself with his own volume as Potter attempted to wrench his arm out of his grip. Then, quieter, “St Mungo’s can’t do anything about a Succubus Curse this powerful!”

Potter paused, and looked at Draco like he’d just threatened to kill his puppy. “So what do I do?”

“You need to fuck something,” Draco told him bluntly. “That’s how these work. You’ll have to go and go and go until you lose consciousness, or else the Curse will eat you from inside. You saw the photos!”

“Couldn’t I just…?” Potter began to shove his hand down the front of his jeans, but Draco stopped him.

“No, it takes two people to break the curse,” Draco explained hastily. “That’s why those Muggles that Meridian cursed ended up dead; she took only what she wanted from them and didn’t follow through long enough for the curse to work itself out of their bodies. She fucked them once or twice and then left them to go mad and rot over the course of the next twenty-four hours.”

“So you’re saying that if I don’t find someone to shag within twenty-four hours, I’ll die?” Potter clarified, his eyes betraying his panic. “But this isn’t… I can’t!”

“How ironic,” Draco said sardonically. “That the man who killed the Dark Lord is bested by a Succubus Curse.”

“It’s important to me that I do this right!” Potter insisted miserably. 

“If you don’t do it tonight, Potter, you will die before you have your chance,” Draco told him bluntly. “I am willing… if you decide you would rather live, I would be willing to save you.”

“You mean…?” Potter breathed, letting his eyes appreciatively scan the length of Draco’s body.

Draco took a chance and stepped into Potter’s personal space to press him to the brick wall of the pub. Potter’s skin was scorching hot and trembling, the long thick line of his erection insistent where it throbbed against Draco’s thigh. Draco slotted that thigh between Potter’s to spread his legs, and instinct took over as Potter began rutting against him. Too much was happening in Draco’s mind at once, but the warning bells and little, Potter-sounding voice in his head that was screaming, “You’re taking advantage!!!” were easily the loudest and most difficult to drown out. There’d be guilt in the morning, certainly, and it was perhaps a little selfish of Draco to be inwardly rejoicing at the prospect of being the very first man to shag Harry Potter rotten.

Potter moaned, and the sound was like music to Draco’s ears. His faculties were swiftly leaving him and a wave of guilt crashed over Draco. “Tell me what you want to do,” he requested quietly.

“I don’t know,” Potter choked out. He took a deep, steadying breath and opened his eyes to pin Draco with a hard stare. The effect was somewhat diminished, though, by the unfocused glaze and swollen pupils. “What’s in it for you?”

“I’ve hit a bit of a dry spell over the last few months,” Draco admitted hastily; it wasn’t as if Potter would remember this conversation enough tomorrow to properly hold the words against him. “This would scratch an itch for me and save your life at the same time. What’s that Muggle saying about the birds and the stones?”

“‘Kill two birds with one stone,’” Potter supplied. Draco was impressed; the curse should have been driving Potter out of his mind with lust by now. “I dunno, Malfoy, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind for our - er - _my_ \- first time.”

Draco’s stomach did a strange leap at that but he chose to ignore the slip-up. “Is your chastity worth dying for?” 

Potter gulped. He didn’t reply. Draco leaned forward, slowly, not breaking eye contact for fear of spooking Potter. He took Potter’s mouth in a kiss, and Potter’s lips were like Fiendfyre. Potter let him take; he responded eagerly, opening to Draco’s questing tongue and fisting his hands into the soft leather of Draco’s jacket. He was thrusting against Draco’s thigh, whimpering into his mouth, trembling and muttering his indecisiveness into Draco’s mouth. Draco felt like absolute shit for how badly he wanted Potter.

“It wouldn’t even count,” He coaxed quietly against Potter’s lips. “Just business. Just one Auror saving the life of another. And then, tomorrow, we’ll track Meridian down and we’ll have her. And I will _personally_ see to it that she gets what’s coming to her. We wouldn’t even have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to.”

Here, Potter regained a modicum of his composure and pushed Draco away. “What if I do want to, though? Talk about it, that is. What if we do this tonight and I decide I want more from you than what you’re offering me?”

“Then… then we will fight that troll when we come to it,” Draco said haltingly. He knew he shouldn’t be promising any such discussion, that this debacle would end after the effects of the curse wore off, but he found himself willing to promise anything right now, so long as Potter didn’t allow himself to succumb to the curse out of sheer stubbornness alone. “Please let someone save you for once, Potter.”

Potter sucked in a harsh breath as his hips jerked to press himself harder against Draco’s leg. Draco reached down to squeeze Potter’s cock through the stiff denim of his jeans. 

“Fine,” Potter breathed, and his prick twitched against the questing fingers fondling him. “But not here.”

“Obviously,” Draco scoffed. “Can you concentrate long enough to Apparate?”

“I can side-along. Just… not Malfoy Manor, please.”

So he gripped Potter’s overheated body tightly to his chest and Apparated them to the Hog’s Head. It was mostly empty, thank Merlin, and Aberforth barely spared them a glance as Draco tossed more galleons than necessary onto the counter in exchange for a key. Draco dragged Potter - who was shivering and panting and hot to the touch - up the narrow staircase and held onto him tightly as he shoved the ancient key into the door lock of room number one. The moment the door was closed Potter heaved himself onto the bed and hastily worked at the button and zip at the front of his jeans. He shoved denim and cotton down round his thighs and took himself in hand to stroke quickly and brutally over his leaking flesh while Draco looked on his awe, frozen to the very spot in which he stood.

Potter looked… _fuck,_ he looked incredible, wild and untamed, vulnerable in the most ferocious way possible. His throat, long and pale, was bared to Draco completely, his left hand twisting harshly into the rumpled sheets beneath him. His waistcoat was hanging open and the first two buttons of his shirt undone; it created an image so ethereal Draco thought it might be considered holy. Never before had he seen anything so magical in all his life.

But now the guilt was weighing Draco down again; Potter had never done this before and as much as he desperately wanted to be the man to take Harry Potter apart piece by piece, he didn't want to do so against Potter’s will. Despite all his shortcomings, Draco Malfoy was not that type of man.

“Last chance to back out,” Draco breathed as he rid himself of his shoes and jacket to climb into the bed. “Are we breaking this curse together or shall I call in Shacklebolt?”

Potter’s eyes fluttered open just long enough for him to meet Draco’s gaze and he whispered, “Together,” and then he was throwing his head back once more and with a groan, spilling over his fist.

Draco just watched, unable to look away as Potter’s lips parted and his chest heaved, his throat working around a silent exclamation of pleasure. 

Once Potter finished, Draco set to work on their remaining clothes. He got Potter naked first, surprised at the intensity of his own body’s reaction to the newly revealed flesh on display before him. Draco forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath to ground himself; working himself up to _actually shagging Harry Potter_ was unfathomably anxiety inducing. At the thought he lifted his eyes to the man in question, and Potter was scowling at him impatiently.

“Well, Potter,” Draco managed, “how would you like to -”

Potter moved inhumanly fast. One moment he was lying on his back across the grey sheets and the next he was climbing bodily into Draco’s lap and wrapping himself around him like a squid. He Vanished Draco’s clothes with a flick of his wand before tossing it to the floor and then they were both completely, blessedly nude. Potter was gracefully sliding the crease of his arse along Draco’s half-hard prick and taking two of Draco’s fingers into his mouth to moisten them before Draco’s brain even had the opportunity to catch up with these quickening proceedings. 

Potter’s skin was unnaturally feverish and only managed to grow even hotter when Draco finally plunged those two fingers deep into his hole. Potter could scald him, could leave Draco’s fingers and cock blistered but it suddenly didn’t matter; Potter’s body was clinging tightly to Draco, to the fingers within him, and Draco’s left hand somehow found its way into the miniscule space between them to tug at Potter’s unyielding erection. Potter threw his head back and let loose a howl the likes of which Draco thought he’d only ever heard come out of the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. It took no more than five tugs and Potter was coming for his second time that evening, covering them both with string after string of his release.

“More,” Potter snarled at him, before his cock even stopped twitching in Draco’s grasp.

Draco shoved him back onto the bed and flipped him to his stomach, all pretense of caution and guilt gone out the window as Draco happily and selflessly set to work on his heroic duty of saving the life of The Chosen One. 

“On your knees,” he demanded, and Potter obeyed. “Spread for me,” and Potter did.

Draco plunged those same fingers into Potter again as he gripped the base of his cock to stop himself coming at the very sight. Potter opened for him flawlessly, clenching down on Draco’s fingers on each outstroke to keep them inside him.

“Magnificent,” breathed Draco, awestruck, just as Potter was shoving back onto his hand and growling, “Fucking _more,_ Malfoy. _Now._ ”

And then it was Draco’s turn to obey; he crooked his fingers in just the right way to get Potter’s hips jerking, and then moved forward to lie beneath Potter’s spread legs. He pressed them further apart and Potter lowered himself down far enough for Draco to get his mouth wrapped around the head of that erection. Potter couldn’t seem to decide if he’d rather thrust into Draco’s throat or buck backwards onto the fingers - three now - still moving around in his arse. He was watching Draco rather intently, though, his hand fisted in Draco’s hair. Whether Potter was doing that to keep Draco in place or to keep himself from flying apart at the seams Draco himself wasn’t entirely certain, but the way Potter pulled at his hair was the exact right kind of painful and Draco was finding it difficult to maintain his composure. Potter’s prick tasted like skin and come, familiar but foreign to Draco all at once.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” Potter breathed, nearly incoherent, and Draco moaned against him in response. He twisted his fingers and swallowed Potter all the way down and that set Potter off a third time, shooting down Draco’s throat to make him gag.

Draco, always the adaptable one, recovered quickly and drank down what Potter gave him before sliding out from under him and flipping Potter to his back once more. Potter was stretched enough, now, he thought, his body pliable and loose, his hole gaping in invitation for Draco’s cock. So with a hasty lubrication charm, Draco slicked himself up and slid home without preamble. Potter keened, trembling and twitching and winding his legs around Draco’s hips to trap him there. For a moment, Draco just stayed there while his brain and his body attempted to get on the same page. Draco was _inside_ Harry Potter. Properly penetrating him. This was Potter’s very first experience with a cock up his arse and his own prick was drooling against the taut lines of his abdominals. And they would both forever remember the fact that - despite all his insistences that this didn’t count - _Draco_ was the very first man to gain entrance to the gloriously tight reception of Harry Potter’s body.

His heart was thudding a wildly staccato rhythm in his chest, and his bollocks were drawn up so tightly that Draco feared a premature end to this experience if he didn’t slow it down. So, in lieu of his original plan (fuck Potter brutally into the mattress), Draco leant down and captured Potter’s lips in a slow kiss. Potter’s hands came up to clutch at Draco’s hair and shoulder as they licked and sucked at each other’s tongues and lips. Draco shifted his hips, the tiniest of in-out motions, and Potter gasped. Draco tried desperately to not think about how undeniably right it felt, but failed completely when Potter’s body begun to move in perfect tandem with his own as they picked up speed.

“Merlin, Potter, you feel bloody incredible,” Draco whispered into his mouth.

It was slow, and it was tender, and Draco couldn’t for the life of him remember the last time he’d fucked like this, wasn’t sure it even really mattered anymore. He’d deny it, if anyone ever asked him, but being inside Potter was like finding a piece of himself Draco’d never even known existed before this moment. It was terrifying, too big in its implications, but a rather traitorous part of Draco was mocking him, telling him that he would be ruined for anyone else after this. He knew that mocking voice in him to be true, though, as Potter rolled them over with a fluid kind of grace and they just kept on going. Potter rode him like that for so long that Draco wondered if time had well and truly stopped for them; each roll of Potter’s hips felt like hours, each whimper and clench of his muscles around Draco’s cock might as well have lasted for days.

When they finally reached climax, together, clinging to one another’s sweat slicked bodies and kissing deeply again, Draco knew instinctively that it was done. The curse was broken now and things were about to get far more awkward than they had any right to at this point.

But, to Draco’s utter relief, the discomfort never came. Potter carefully extracted Draco’s softening cock from his body and flopped helplessly onto the bed. There was no strength left in either of them, and when Potter wrapped his fingers around Draco’s wrist and tugged, Draco went willingly. Potter wrapped himself around Draco and wandlessly extinguished the lights in the room. Exhaustion was clawing its way into Draco’s mind and Draco let it come as they lay there in the inky blackness of the room.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Draco could have sworn he heard Potter mumble, “Please don’t sneak out, Draco. Stay until morning.”

***

The first thing Draco noticed as he swam slowly back into consciousness was the bright midwinter sunlight filtering through the tattered curtains of the room he’d slept in. His bedroom at home didn’t have any eastern facing windows and he prefered it that way; the early morning light made him grumpy and uncooperative for the entire day. Slowly, though, something else was currently worming its way past Draco’s disagreeable morning attitude; a warm arm was slung over his waist and bare legs were tangling with his own beneath the covers. It was the soft, coaxing lips trailing gentle kisses along the back of Draco’s neck and shoulder, however, that made him stiffen in a brief flicker of panic.

“Shh,” his bed partner whispered, smiling against his skin. “Just me.”

Draco relaxed into the kisses, unsure why Potter’s husky, sleep roughened voice and warm press of lips brought out in him this sense of calm. But then Potter’s hand moved to wrap around his burgeoning morning erection, and the previous night came back to him all at once in a flash of heated memories. Potter, cursed and horny and willing to fuck. Potter, searing hot and quivering beneath him. Potter, crying out and fluttering around his cock. Potter, coming down his throat and telling Draco he was beautiful. Potter… feeling so real and right and perfect against him and around him and in his arms.

“Fuck,” Draco ground out, overcome with shame and remorse.

“Stop,” Potter admonished as he began to stroke Draco’s cock in earnest. “You’re overthinking it. Now,” he went on, “I am going to talk about my feelings on the matter of last night, and you can either listen with or without my hands on you.” He moved to let go of Draco. “Which will it be?”

Draco put his hand over Potter’s and held him there, pushing into the tunnel of Potter’s fist in response.

“Good,” Potter cooed, and Draco felt like he should be upset about the tone of his voice, but couldn’t find the emotion amidst the overwhelming sensation of Potter - coherent and not cursed at all - touching him like this. “Tell me when you’re close?”

Draco nodded.

“Thank you for what you did last night, Draco,” Potter said, and a fresh surge of guilt threatened to break him. Potter kept kissing him, neck and shoulder and back, and Draco was glad they were not face to face for this. “You can stop feeling guilty anytime now, because what you did saved my life, and -”

“But I -” Draco protested breathlessly, but Potter cut him off with a rough twist at the head of his prick, and Draco’s voice petered off into a moan.

“You did not take advantage of me,” Potter told him sternly. “I was resistant at first because I didn’t truly understand the gravity of the situation. Now, with my mind no longer in shambles, I do understand. You didn’t feel that curse last night, Draco; it was driving me mad, and I hardly remember anything between, well… between Meridian kissing my forehead and your mouth on me. All I remember is heat and fear and desperation. And you. I remember your hands shaking as you undressed me, I remember your hesitance. Last night, I took that hesitance to mean that you did not want to have to do it, but now… without the fever boiling my brain, I know better; it wasn’t that you _didn’t_ want to. It’s that you _did,_ and you felt terrible about the circumstances.”

Potter paused here, as if waiting for Draco to respond. He couldn’t. Draco would not admit to that, wouldn’t show Potter that vulnerability. Potter took his silence for what it was, though, and removed his hand from Draco’s cock to tug and roll his sack instead, careful to press firmly against that spot just behind. Draco gasped and whined in disbelief, unsure what Potter’s motives were here. 

Potter pressed his own erection against the swell of Draco’s arse, and then stretched to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “Can I return the favour?”

At first Draco wasn’t sure what he meant, but then Potter was casting a wandless lubrication charm and rubbing small circles over Draco’s hole and it all became perfectly clear: Potter wanted to fuck him. Potter was fully coherent, now, and he had two fingers poised to press into Draco the moment Draco gave him permission. So, quietly, shakily, Draco did just that.

“Yes, Harry.”

Those fingers sunk into him, and the two of them exhaled a simultaneous breath of relief. Potter repositioned them; he turned Draco to his front and urged him to his knees while Potter himself knelt behind him. Potter began to move his hand, stroking inside Draco and searching for his prostate. Draco jerked when he found it, rocking back onto the questing fingers and panting, “There! Don’t stop!”

Potter didn’t. Once he found that spot he was ruthless with it, grinding and rubbing and prodding at it to make Draco whimper louder and louder. Just when Draco was beginning to think he could take no more, Potter switched tactics. He eased off Draco’s prostate in favour of stretching him properly. He squeezed a third finger in alongside the other two and the burn of it had Draco sweating. And then Potter’s tongue joined his fingers and Draco dropped his head to the pillow with a muffled curse. Potter was licking at his stretched rim, dipping his tongue just inside when he spread his fingers and this was something Draco’d never allowed any of his previous partners to do to him. But somehow, with Potter - with _Harry_ \- everything was different. This was still dirty, still filthy in a way Draco refused to think about, but it set his nerves on fire and banished any and all possible protests from his mind.

“More,” Draco begged quietly. “Fuck, Harry, more deeper _please._ ”

And Harry, Merlin bless him, gave it to him. He pulled his fingers from Draco and focused solely on devouring his arse with his mouth, a veritable feast to be wholly consumed. Draco clawed at the pillowcase beneath his hands as Harry’s tongue slipped inside him. He felt more than heard the deep groan issuing from Harry’s chest and it set him shaking in anticipation for more. Draco was sure if it went on like this for much longer - the wet muscle of Harry’s tongue prodding against him and wiggling into him - Draco would embarrass himself and come before he even got to feel Harry’s prick spearing him open. Just thinking about it had Draco’s balls drawing up tight, ready to burst.

“Close,” Draco gasped, twitching away from Harry’s mouth. “Want you inside me.”

So Harry moved away and turned Draco to his back. For a moment they just stared at one another, and this was all beginning to really sink in for Draco, now that he could see the expression on Harry’s face. Not only had Harry forgiven him for the night before, but he was actually bloody _thanking him for it_ by ‘returning the favour’, in Harry’s own words. Draco’s heart suddenly felt too large for his chest as an emotion he refused to acknowledge as fondness or affection swept through him. 

Harry smiled at him, that grin a big dopey thing that betrayed his own affection for Draco, and he leant down to take Draco’s mouth in a kiss. Draco stopped him at the last moment to cast a freshening charm on both of their mouths; Draco’s still felt sour from sleep and, well, Potter’d just had his on Draco’s arse. Harry smiled again and huffed out a laugh as he rolled his eyes. He murmured something that sounded distinctly like, “Prissy little princess,” and then they were kissing at last with no curse between them. It was real, this time, just Draco and Harry kissing because they wanted to, kissing because it preceded another kind of physical intimacy that they both _wanted_ from one another.

They kept kissing as Draco draped one of his legs over Harry’s shoulder and Harry guided the other around his waist. Harry broke the intense eye contact between them to watch as he lined himself up and pressed forward. Penetration was a slow, brutal thing; the burn of Harry stretching him open so thoroughly would have brought Draco to his knees were he standing. They paused to breathe and adjust once Harry was fully seated within him, and Draco couldn’t take the look of rapture on Harry’s face any longer. He threw an arm over his flushed face to hide his eyes from the man atop him and Harry swiftly batted it away.

“Please let me watch you,” Harry requested in a gentle whisper, and Draco was overcome with affection.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, and Harry did. 

Their tongues met in a loose tangle as Harry’s hips inched backward, pulling out halfway before carefully pressing forward once more. They breathed and panted and moved together, and Draco was swept up in how perfect Harry felt. He was in him and over him and all around him, and Draco’s senses were overwhelmed with _Harry._ His cock was thick and rigid where it moved smoothly within him, his eyes so so green as they watched Draco this closely. He tasted like spearmint in Draco’s mouth and his whimpers were a joyous symphony to Draco’s ears. They smelled of sex and sweat, Harry’s skin slick and slippery as Draco attempted to cling to him. Harry’s hips moved with single minded determination, dragging over Draco’s prostate with every inward stroke, and Draco had a moment where he realized, _This is special. This is exactly what Harry wanted._ The thought that Draco was the one Harry’d chosen to experience it with should have made Draco uncomfortable but it didn’t. He was swept up in that wave of affection again and pulled Harry into yet another kiss.

After everything, after seven years of childish hatred, and the eight subsequent years that followed of one-sided resentment and competitiveness, it had all come down to this and Draco was glad. There was passion between them, an undeniable chemistry that, when it finally bubbled over, somehow manifested in the best sex Draco’d ever had. He was crying out, lifting his hips to meet Harry’s smooth thrusts, shamelessly rubbing his dripping prick over Harry’s sweat-moistened skin in search of friction, and Harry was giving him everything he had.

Harry’s orgasm took them both by surprise; his hips stuttered with a kind of sudden finality that Draco recognized immediately, and then Harry was groaning deeply as Draco felt himself coated with an unmistakably wet heat.

“Fuck,” Harry chuckled a moment later as he eased himself out of Draco. “Sorry, Draco, let me just…”

Harry moved away and Draco was about to protest because _really? _But then Harry was lying between Draco’s spread thighs and mouthing at the head of Draco’s leaking erection. So Draco wove his fingers into the mess of Harry’s hair and reveled in his sloppy enthusiasm. Draco followed Harry over the edge not two minutes later, choking out his name in warning, but Harry simply tightened the seal of his lips and sucked harder as Draco spurted against his tongue. Draco watched with a tiny smirk as Harry squeezed his eyes shut and made an undignified gagging sound when he swallowed.__

__Draco pulled Harry up by his arm afterward to kiss him, licking into Harry’s mouth in appreciation to taste himself there._ _

__“That counted,” Harry said once Draco released him. Draco must have had an odd look on his face because Harry went on, “You said last night that whatever happened while I was cursed wouldn’t count. This time, it did.”_ _

__Draco huffed out a small laugh. “Was it everything you hoped it’d be, Potter? Special enough for you?”_ _

__“It was perfect,” Harry replied, kissing him again. Draco was beginning to think kissing Harry was his favourite thing in the world. Not that he would ever admit it aloud, of course._ _

__“Can I buy you dinner tonight, Potter? I feel rather guilty for not giving you the full experience, you see.”_ _

__Harry actually laughed. “Sure, Malfoy, I’ll go on a date with you. Will it be the first of many?”_ _

__Draco took a deep breath, working up the courage to say what he wanted to. “I’m afraid you’ll have a very difficult time getting rid of me, now, Harry.”_ _

__“Good,” Harry grinned. He sounded just as relieved as Draco felt._ _


End file.
